Sherlock Take a Blow to the Head
by I M Sterling
Summary: Sherlock has amnesia and deduces something wrong...or does he finally get it right? Sherlolly!


AN: I'm panting for the next season of Sherlock. Someone needs to slip me an advance copy! Sherlock might be a little OOC on this. Oh, and Molly and Sherlock aren't mine. I just play with them when no one is looking.

"John, where is he?"

Molly had no memory of how she came to be in this particular corner of St. Bart's hospital…only a call from John Watson and the frenzied rush of a mad combination of stairs and elevators…all leading to one, inevitable, destination.

"He's alive Molly."

She strained to see over John's form, into the darkened room where Sherlock was surrounded by machines, their muted monitoring serving as witnesses that the consulting detective did indeed have a heart.

"What was it this time?"

A low groan interrupted them. "Barely a four. Not worth leaving the flat over."

John rushed in and grabbed Sherlock's arm. "Not worth getting bashed on the head for mate, that's for sure."

Sherlock looked up at John and his brows contracted. "Too short to be a relative. You must be a friend…."

John and Molly looked at each other in disbelief.

John stammered "You don't know who I am?"

"I know several things about you: ex-army doctor, right handed, likes chocolate biscuits more than he should…slightly addicted to his own adrenalin…loyal to a fault and kind without thought or justification…"

Sherlock took a deep breath. "But no. Other than a vague feeling of ease and…I suppose…affection, there's nothing in my head that tells me what your name is."

Mycroft swept in. "That might be problematic Sherlock."

"Sherlock? Really?" He snorted lightly, genuinely surprised to hear his name. "Who names a son Sherlock?"

"The same people that named their first son Mycroft."

Sherlock smirked. "I'll assume that Mummy loves me best."

"I'll let that slide considering you have amnesia and are prone in a hospital bed."

"I doubt we have the sort of relationship that involves letting anything slide."

"Bravo, brother mine. Deduction, or memory?"

Sherlock frowned. "I can't be sure."

Mycroft tapped the back of Sherlock's hand in what was supposed to be a comforting gesture…but came off looking incredibly stiff. "Don't strain. The doctors tell me that this is most likely temporary. It will come back."

"Don't be absurd Mycroft. You can't know that. In cases like this the memory is at least partially impaired over fifty percent of the time."

Mycroft smirked. "And the fact that you can remember that leads me to believe that your memories aren't gone…just hiding." Mycroft put on his coat. "That said, if you need me I'm only a text away."

Sherlock's face was impassive. "Or I could shout into a random traffic camera, if the mood hits. I know you'll be watching."

Mycroft inclined his head and swept out the door.

Molly sighed.

Sherlock caught her hand. She was too shocked to protest when he pulled her down into his arms and kissed her lightly on the lips. "Don't worry love. I'll get my memories back."

"Sherlock? Whaaa…?"

Sherlock's eyes flicked to John, not nearly as confused as Molly was, but somewhat perplexed.

"We don't kiss in front of John?"

 _John's open mouth might have been an indicator._

"No mate…you don't kiss in front of me. You don't bloody well do anything in front of me." He turned to Molly. "How long has this been going on?"

Molly was obviously uncomfortable. "It doesn't…I mean it's not! We don't…"

She took a deep breath and squirmed slightly against the detective who wasn't letting her go. "I think you have the wrong idea about us, Sherlock."

"Really? You were the first person John called when I was injured, you raced to be by my side, your heart rate increased when I pulled you close, and your pupils are dilated. Your smell is booth familiar and comforting, and judging by the way you lie next to me in bed we've been in this position before…"

"Yes, but…"

His voice rumbled through the room, slightly petulant. "What are we then, if not involved?"

John was laughing at Molly's obvious distress.

She lifted her chin. "We're friends."

He raised his brows and nodded to the comfortable way their bodies shared the small space on the hospital bed.

"Not like that! You always steal my bed when you sleep at my house…it's your favorite bolthole…and after a while I got tired of the couch and made you share."

"Fascinating. So…I am incapable of finding another place to hide?"

Molly rolled her eyes. "No…you have loads of places to hide, all over London."

"And yet your bed is my favorite."

Sherlock's smirk was completely unlike him, but somehow…still very much Sherlock.

"Yes you git. You used it a lot when you were on the run" she noted his confusion and placed a comforting hand on his long fingers "…long story. After that it was habit I suppose."

Sherlock pulled her tighter. "That doesn't explain the raised heart rate."

"I ran up here from the morgue when John called. I thought you were dying."

Sherlock chuckled. "You aren't helping your case Molly."

"I…Wait…you know my name?"

"Another point in favor of my hypothesis. I can't remember any other name, not mine, not my brother's, not my best friend's, but I remember yours."

"Sherlock, I promise. A moment ago, when you kissed me on the lips? That was the first time you've done that."

John chuckled lightly. "I think I'll leave the two of you to your discussion. But honestly Molly…when have you ever said no to the man?"

Molly rolled her eyes. "When has Sherlock Holmes ever been interested in sentiment?"

John grabbed his coat and grinned at Sherlock, laughter bubbling out of his voice. "She has you there mate. You always said it wasn't your area."

Sherlock snapped "Don't help me John."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

John whistled quietly as he got in the elevator, still chuckling like mad.

Sherlock was still holding her.

"Sherlock…you've had your fun with John. Can I get up now?"

His arms didn't budge. "You wouldn't deny an injured man his best chance at recovery, would you Molly?"

"Don't be cruel."

He turned her around to face him. "I promise you that I'm not. I am simply deducing. And I deduce that if I was not in an overt romantic relationship with you, then I was in some sort of relationship."

She looked down. "It wasn't like that…you didn't want anyone…not like that. You said, and I quote 'Sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side."

"I never said that to you."

"John put it on his blog."

"I didn't mean you."

"You have amnesia, how do you know what you meant?"

"What I feel for you has nothing to do with sentiment."

She looked away, an old familiar pain searing a jagged line in her chest.

He cupped her face softly. "This is about survival." His lips were warm as he placed another chaste kiss on hers'. "My very survival depends on having a place where I can rest…really rest. I know this, like I know the smell of your skin and the way your mouth quirks to one side when you smile. You are my refuge. My favorite hiding place. My shelter from even my own mind."

"I always give you what you need Sherlock. Always. Whether it's a meal and a place to sleep or helping you fake your own death and lying to everyone while they grieve…I always do it." She closed her eyes. "You don't have to repay me…for any of it. I do it because we are friends, because it's the right thing to do. I wouldn't want…this…just because you think it's an equal payment for what I do for you."

She was keeping back the tears…barely.

He rubbed his hands along her back. "This isn't about reciprocation. This is about me finally seeing what's important in my life. Perhaps I needed to lose my memory to remove the clutter."

"Who are you and what have you done with Sherlock Holmes?"

He kissed her again, delicately coaxing her to a response.

"And where the bloody hell did you learn to do that?" She closed her eyes. "Never mind…I don't want to know."

He smiled down at her. "It's good that you don't, because I haven't the faintest idea where I learned that." He kissed her again. "All I see in my head is you."


End file.
